Tuesday, July 26, 2011

With the Webmistress gone, Mortuis' network is crippled. We have to get the word out the old-fashioned way, with a cell phone and a whole slew of numbers. Not being the detective type - defective, maybe - I volunteer for this duty. The tavern supplies a notepad, pencils and pens, a booth by a window and The Amazing Bottomless Coffee Urn. As an added bonus, I get a couple of phone numbers and "call me's" from a pair of shifter girls. Who said virtue is its own reward?

Since I can go without sleep indefinitely - I think I said that somewhere before, didn't I? - they leave me to it.

Let's face it.  I've got no claws, no fangs, no magic, no knack for cryptic and pompous rhetoric. I'm no hero, I'm just Jack; but this I can do - provided I don't stick myself with a pencil and wind up with lead poisoning.

So I field phone calls, record and pass on possible leads and drink enough coffee to float the Queen Mary.

Every being that can fly is out there, crisscrossing the city in hopes of catching a glimpse of Tori and her abductors. Unfortunately, most of our air force will be grounded come the dawn, which isn't that far off. Ground troops are out there as well - a motley group of Riders, shifters, Hellhounds and street kids, combing the city in search of one redheaded gar-girl.

The results are discouraging. Wherever Tori may be, it's not Exton.

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